CONCLUSION
“[I]f I am no good now, I shall be no good later on either, but if later on, then now too. For corn is corn, though people from the city may take it for grass at first”.
(“Letter from Vincent van Gogh to Theo van Gogh”)
If, fifty years from now, BTS are looked back upon as artists that were worth something, then they are worth investigating today. It is easy to dismiss what is deemed popular as surface, depthless, meaningless. However, our exploration during these last few chapters has given us evidence to the contrary; it has become difficult to deny the significance of the work that Bangtan are doing. We have seen them challenge notions of originality and superiority; bring awareness to the mental health crisis in today’s youth, particularly in South Korea; subvert harmful metanarratives and encourage difference and individuality; bridge cultural borders and transcend language through music; dismantle notions of superiority with regard to the Western canon, and even blur the lines between high and popular or mass culture.
Having worked with BTS on their latest album, Halsey explains that “[b]ehind those three letters are seven astounding young men who believe that music is stronger than the barriers of language. It’s a universal dialect” (Monteros, Newsweek). This is echoed in Gifford Phillips’s writing, which argues that “[i]f real art is indeed trans-cultural, it is because of the unique ‘language’ in which art communicates – a language of expressive forms” (175). If we take this to be true, then BTS’s work is certainly what Phillips calls “real” art, as is Hesse’s and Le Guin’s. Does that move BTS from the realm of pop culture to high art, however?
In his essay “Postmodernism, Or, The Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism”, Fredric Jameson discusses that there are currently “notions of the waning or extinction of the hundred-year-old modern movement (or to its ideological or aesthetic repudiation)” (59). He also brings attention to the “prophetic elitism and authoritarianism of the modern movement” when it comes to high art (59). Most notably, however, Jameson explains that there is one “fundamental feature” which appears again and again in the Postmodernisms he discusses;
[N]amely, the effacement in them of the older (essentially high-modernist) frontier between high culture and so-called mass or commercial culture and the emergence of new kinds of texts infused with the forms, categories, and contents of that very culture industry so passionately denounced by all the ideologies of the modern. (59-60)
BTS’s use of an arguably Postmodernist form, the music video, and their adaptations of Hesse’s and Le Guin’s works, most definitely fit Jameson’s description above. They challenge the superiority of the Western canon and notion of high art at all with their music, music videos, and even by virtue of the fact that they are South Korean. Bangtan bridge a cultural gap with cross-cultural adaptations, and establish a sense of universality between the East and West. Their work rejects the clear-cut polarised binaries such as that of East/West, white/non-white, or high culture/mass culture.
Herbert J. Gans believes that “[a]s long as high culture is the culture of an elite – and of ‘cultural experts’ – the rest of the population will go along with their standards”, but as Phillips argues, this view entirely “excludes the possibility of transcendent art” (175). Thus, as BTS have proven, popular culture can and does produce so-called ‘real’ art as well as transcendent art, and makes high culture works (like Demian or “Omelas”) accessible to a larger population. One of their more recent albums, “Love Yourself: Tear” used a book entitled Into The Magic Shop by Dr James R. Doty as inspiration; it didn’t take long after the album’s release for the book to become a bestseller in South Korea (Dahir). In an interview with Buzzfeed, Dr Doty explains that BTS’s popularity has:
[…] not only resulted in my book becoming a best-seller in Korea, but has resulted in a dramatic increase in exposure of the book to many others around the world – boosting sales and promoting the message of the power of having an open heart and of love, which I appreciate and which is needed more than ever. (Dahir)
Therefore, BTS’s influence and popularity, their very status as pop culture, has in fact enabled them to spread ‘high literature’ to thousands, if not millions, of more readers. Furthermore, though some members of BTS’s audience may not get any sort of gratification, or experience any emotional resonation, with the source texts, their experience with BTS’s adaptation still brings that aforementioned ‘spirit’ to large swathes of people. One still sees the bildungsroman nature of Demian in the “WINGS” short films; and one still feels the bittersweetness of “The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas” when watching the “Spring Day” music video. Should these be considered any less valuable, simply because they are experienced via cross-cultural, popular adaptations?
Ernest van den Haag asserts that true, high culture classics “cannot be irrelevant, for they deal with subjects relevant to the universal human predicament in ways to be experienced perenially” (228-229). By this definition, BTS’s work, their adaptations, their message, are classic. Human beings will always experience the process of growing up and discovering themselves; they will always question, wonder, love, and extend a hand of friendship, or at the very least allyship. Human beings will always tell stories, and retell them with their own unique contribution. They will always make music. These are undeniably universal human experiences. It is true that BTS’s adaptations are tailored towards a twenty-first century, young audience; however, it is difficult to imagine that Hesse wrote Demian with this same audience in mind, and yet, because of Bangtan, it is precisely this audience that is reading the novel today.
In the same essay, van den Haag goes on to group mass culture with “diversion from boredom” and “time killing” (229). In his view, no “serious writer” would set out to produce a work with the sole intention of making an audience happy (230). Again, however, I would like to bring your attention back to the quote which introduced this dissertation:
The trouble is that we have a bad habit, encouraged by pedants and sophisticates, of considering happiness as something rather stupid. (Le Guin, 256-257)
It seems almost dangerous to dismiss happiness in this way, especially when we consider the alternative. Would BTS’s work be ‘better’, then, if they encouraged their audience to wallow in their sadness? If instead of combating the mental health crisis in twenty-first-century youth, they promoted it?
The final challenge that BTS pose us is this: to view happiness as a complex idea that is worthy of its position as an artist’s muse, and also of exploration, investigation, and experimentation. If we were to shift our perspective and look at happiness as something other than surface and frivolous, what could we stand to gain? In a time where walls – both physical and figurative – are being built between people, the hand of universality and happiness that BTS are extending seems crucial. Rather than walls, Bangtan Sonyeondan build bridges, through their music, their videos, their art.
Note: this post’s feature image is taken from Unicef’s official website, where you can find out more information about the “Love Myself” campaign.
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